


Candle Kids

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Creepy Fluff, Creepy Forest, Dark, Gen, Horror, Malevolent Spirits, Multi, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(((((DISCONTINUED)))))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Nerd, A Story, and an Old Shack

**Author's Note:**

> BIG THANK YOU to my Scarlet for her encouragement, as well as my roommate for helping me with important concepts like a few ghosts and the ending itself.
> 
> I'm posting two chapters today to really get introductions and plot going. After that, I'll post one chapter on Flash Days :D

_Ring around the rosy,_

_a pocket full of posy,_

_Ashes,_

_Ashes,_

_We all_

_fall_

_down._

 

Central Township’s pretty big, but behaves like it’s a small place. Everyone’s either a superstitious senior or a rebel junior, one thinking the legend’s completely true, the other treating it like a giant prank.

According to the latter, here’s how it goes: some fifty years ago, three children die in the woods west of Central. Ten years later, another kid goes missing, and so on and so forth, making a total of seven children—the most recent case an eleven year old kid ten years back—whose bodies were never recovered, even though their families all died.

Apparently this suddenly makes those kids a group of monsters who haunt the forest—monsters who can only be seen by candlelight. So let’s make a game.

Rules:

  1. One-two players only.
  2. Game starts at midnight.
  3. Players get two candles and four sets of matches.
  4. Players have to stay in the woods until six in the morning.



They call it Candle Kids, because they are definitely original.

One guy even makes a website, posting a black and white photo of the first three kids standing with a large group of twenty and two adults. Unless you’ve been told which one was which, you wouldn’t be able to tell which three you were looking for—they’re not frowning or covered in Bucky Barnes eyeliner. They’re smiling with various degrees of brightness, just like everyone else. Photo takes place at a Day Care Center that used to stand in those woods, when it was open and not a wildlife preserve. Both owners, a man and a woman, had kids in their group.

But that photo’s just the header. A title’s stamped over it, a candle lighting the letters: _CANDLE KIDS SURVIVORS_. Like people have actually played the game. Maybe one small group in the last twenty years have gone through those woods, and that was just to _leave_ candles, you know, for those poor kids. They claim their candles weren’t in the places they left them when they checked, but who’s gonna believe that?

Cisco certainly doesn’t. Then again, he’s a scientist—a Skeptical Scientist. Sure, ghosts stories are cool, but when you desecrate the deaths of whole families and little kids going missing, they become decidedly not cool. And that’s all they’ll ever be, anyway: stories.

So when the position of Assistant to Border Patrol, which Cisco immediately dubs just Border Patrol, he applies without hesitation. Job description paints an easy picture for good cash, just what he needs this summer. All he has to do is sit in the little surveillance shack and watch a few camera feeds, make sure those rowdy whipper-snappers don’t cross his lawn.

Better still, he’s the only one who’s called in for an interview.

A pretty girl opens the shack’s door, leaning out to look at him. “Cisco Ramon?”

Cisco waves, “Iris West?”

“That’s me! Welcome to Central Preserve. Come on in, my dad made coffee.”

In the summer heat, Iris’ hair has been wrangled into a ponytail. Her ruffled short-sleeved shirt is made of soft peach material, light red flowers dotting it, with light denim caprees and flip-flops. Around her neck is a gold chain with a ring; around her wrist is a worn, hand-made bracelet, little white letter cubes spelling her first name. She radiates welcoming kindness, warm brown eyes crinkled with her smile.

She leads Cisco into the shack. It has just two rooms, the surveillance room and a tiny bathroom. The walls are paneled, wood scratched and faded since it first opened fifteen years ago. Floor’s not much better, cheap carpet gone hopelessly gray from dirty shoes treading all over it. Windows line the same wall as the door, as well as the far right wall, square monsters that have a big thing of Windex resting on one of their sills. Two desks have been shoved into the front corner, to Cisco’s right, monitors and cluttered paperwork covering them.

Sitting at the desk against the farthest wall, back turned, is a man Cisco can only assume is Joe West, Iris’ father. He’s dressed in a typical patrol officer’s light brown uniform with dark brown pants, though the hat is wisely put aside. He turns around when he hears Cisco enter, a smile identical to his daughter’s already in place.

“Mr. Ramon,” he says, standing to shake Cisco’s hand.

Cisco can’t help but grin back. “Just Cisco, sir.”

“Hey, don’t call me ‘sir’. You’re on summer vacation, you’re not supposed to listen to old folks like me. Call me Joe.”

He likes this guy. “I, uh…I don’t see anyone else here.”

Iris pats his back. “You’re the only one we brought in.”

No way. How dope is that? “For real? Why?”

Joe waves to the forest gently swaying outside. “Well, you’re interested in science, not stupid games and superstition. Everyone else just wanted a free pass to play _Candle Kids_.” Okay good, he knows the name’s awful too. “All we’re looking for here is an impartial third party to hang out and watch a few cameras.”

Cisco beams, “Yeah, well, you’re in luck. I’m as impartial as they come. I mean, like, to the stupid games and stuff, not…I’m a people-person and stuff.”

Iris laughs, “Don’t worry, Cisco. We know what you meant. Let’s sit down and talk about the rest of it.”

She pulls out two folding chairs from behind her, seating herself and Cisco so the three of them are in a little triangle. Cisco hopes he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels; folding-chairs aren’t really his thing. They’re probably not _anyone’s_ thing, but they’re especially not his thing.

Joe gestures to his daughter. “Iris explains everything best. I’ll let her do the talking.”

Aw, they are such a cute family. They should be on TV, seriously.

Iris nods. Her expression turns into that of a businesswoman about to put a bunch of idiot colleagues into their place. Cisco may or may not be in love.

Reaching over and taking a clipboard from its nail hanger, Iris recites, “Job’s basically what you read in our ad. Monitor the cameras, make sure no stupid kids or anything else gets into the preserve. You see something, you pick up that red phone,” nodding to the only phone between the first two monitors, “and you’ll be automatically patched through to senior staff. They know they’re on call after your week’s training, so don’t hesitate. Are you okay with the hours?”

Cisco shrugs, “I really don’t have anything to do at night. I can spend twenty-one of them out here for sure.”

Iris’ smile is relieved. “Good. Now, as for you going into the preserve…don’t. Everyone is expressly forbidden.”

Scientist’s curiosity now piqued. Eyes narrowing slightly, Cisco asks, “Can I ask why not?”

Iris rubs her lips together, searching for the right words. “The creatures in the preserve are…finicky, you know? They see someone they don’t know, they get aggressive. My dad and I are only recognized because we’ve been here since I was twelve and helped with setting up their habitat. Trust me, it’s just better you and everyone else stay on this side of that fence.”

This is sounding more and more like _Jurassic Park_.

Awesome.

“Got it, don’t go past the creepy gate,” Cisco replies. And just like that, any tension in the room dissipates.

Iris holds up a finger, then sifts through the papers on her clipboard. “If you want some entertainment or if you should ever have the temptation to get fired…” she finds what she’s looking for, carefully taking the small pile out from under the official waivers; “I did a project for my art requirement at college based on the Candle Kids’ Legend. It was Halloween, and I was really frustrated with those kids trying to sneak into the preserve. So I looked up the names of the kids, where their families were last seen…” she shrugs, “made a scary little book for those idiot teenagers.”

She hands Cisco some crumpled pages, tied together with black string weaving through three punch holes. Interested, Cisco takes the booklet with gentle hands.

The cover page is surrounded by black ink, making a circle around the candle in its center, like a pool of light radiating from that tiny flame. Above the candle, in smoking letters, is _DON’T TURN OUT THE LIGHT_ in creepy, scratchy font. Underneath is a cursive _IRIS WEST_.

“Whoa,” Cisco murmurs, “this looks awesome!”

Iris grins, “Thanks.”

Cisco flips to the first page. The ink border is wider now, pen lines making deliberate holes so it almost looks like a hyperactive child with too much sugar drew them. In the center, a hooded creature with a slashed throat and bleeding mouth stares, bent into itself. Its eyes are wide, round holes, solid black with more blood leaking from them. The mouth—no tongue, dripping teeth—opens wide, as if to scream. On the left side of its head is the word _BE_ and on the right, _QUIET_.

“Bro!” Cisco cries, grinning, “I love how twisted these are. How did you come up with these?”

Iris shrugs a shoulder, “Journalism major. I’m good at making stuff up.”

Cisco snorts. He really likes this girl.

Page two, same layout. There’s a round well, stones expertly rendered, with some tufts of grass around it. On top, chipped pieces of wood nailed over the well, and on top of _those_ , a figure curled up as if in sleep. They have a jacket on—or is it a sweater?—with pants and…sneakers, maybe? Cisco can’t tell from this perspective. Either way, above them are the words _DON’T WAKE HER!_ and below, ( _ROCK-A-BYE, BABY)_.

Third page, consistent layout. This time, an upturned face peeks from the bottom scribbles. Cisco can’t see any distinguishable features other than a strong jaw and flames bursting from above a semi-wide nose. Along the charred remains of a nondescript house, words stack up to form _GIVE HIM LIFE_.

“Please tell me you got an A on this.”

Iris and Joe laugh. “She did,” West replies.

Then there is some justice in this cruel, cruel world. Cisco eagerly flips the page.

Again, same layout. Central Preserve’s forest finally makes an appearance in a semi-circle of trees. Peeking out from behind one of them is another figure, this one covering its eyes with scarred hands. Along the bottom, _SHE LIKES TO CHEAT!_

Page five. The ink border is intruded upon by a bunch of eyes, each one looking in different directions. They’re all on one grotesque face, tiny nose and mouth curving just before the border gives way. _DON’T LOOK HIM IN THE EYE_ says three pairs of pupils.

Page six. Different layout. There’s no border here, just scribbled lines in pen. This one depicts a hill appearing between a cluster of trees. A figure with its back turned sits cross-legged at the summit.

Page seven follows that layout. Two hands with long, deft fingers, pull Cat’s Cradle strings taught. On these strings are tiny dolls, each bleeding from their yarn temples where the string hangs them.

Each doll has a speech bubble next to their stitched mouth. Reading from left to right, working his way down, Cisco sees the message:

 _DOUSE THE LIGHT  
SHH!  
DON’T DISTURB HIM  
HE WANTS TO PLAY  
_ _BUT HE LIKES TO CHASE_  
RUN  
RUN!

Last page. Here’s the only spot of color in the entire booklet, and it’s on a ripped piece of an old picture. This piece lies under what looks like a gravestone; it has a tease of hair, and one smiling eye, both colored to start the makings of a kind face. _HOPE,_ says the jagged edges of this piece. _FIVE PIECES +,_ says the top. _ONE GOOD REASON,_ says the bottom.

“This is so awesome, I can’t even,” Cisco says, closing the booklet at last, “like, I literally have lost all ability to can.” Iris laughs. “No, seriously! You’ve got some great talent, girl!”

“Thank you, Cisco,” Iris replies. “You can leaf through it during your shifts, as long as you keep one eye on those cameras.”

“It would be my _honor_.”

Another delighted laugh. “Okay. Training starts tomorrow night. Come by at five-thirty.”

“You got it, boss…es. Bosses!”

It’s basically the beginning of every horror movie, really. But Cisco knows he’s gonna be okay—one, he’s watched way too many horror movies to make stupid choices, and he’s not even going to leave the shack, so…?

So this is gonna be _awesome_.


	2. Birds of a Feather Nerd Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solomon Grundy  
> Born on a Monday,  
> Christened on Tuesday,  
> Married on Wednesday,  
> Took ill on Thursday,  
> Grew worse on Friday,  
> Died on Saturday,  
> Buried on Sunday.  
> That was the end,  
> Of Solomon Grundy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more big thank you to the horror game Wick, which inspired this entire story. Look it up on YouTube if you have the time; it's really fun!

Before his official shifts begin, Cisco shadows Joe and Iris for seven nights. He has that Monday night off to get some rest, prepare for his solitary vigil, while Iris and Joe finish up before they travel across the country on a much-needed vacation.

Cisco adores both Wests. They’re awesome to banter with, and they’re super supportive. They even have a greyhound, Flash. Together, they make a healthy family, the likes of which Cisco’s dreamed of since his brother stole every scrap of affection for himself. He’s only known them for a week and change, but he considers them good friends; that’s the kind of people they are. Gems of the world, in his opinion.

Tuesday night, Cisco unlocks the shack promptly at five-thirty, Flash trotting at his heels. The dog serves as his assistant, both fast and an adept tracker, highly trained. Also the sweetest dog in the entire universe who loves kisses and wagging his tail almost as much as he loves hugs. Around the dog’s neck is a bright red collar with a lightning bolt tag, _FLASH_ engraved in diagonal.

Like, in all seriousness, can Cisco just move in with the Wests?

“Alright buddy-boy!” Cisco announces once the door’s shut and his ass is in the worn leather chair, “Are you ready for Freddy?”

Oh come on, the reference is _totally_ accurate.

“I’m just gonna check with the guarrrrd-oh what is this?” Cisco peels a post-it note off Iris’ creepypasta booklet. In Iris’ neat cursive, _Remember: don’t go in! See you in two weeks! <3 Iris_. Awww!

With gentle fingers, Cisco sticks this post-it on the edge of the right-most monitor, smoothing it over thoroughly.

He checks the phone as instructed by Joe. Officer Thawne picks up, all bright and cheery like everyone else who guards this preserve. Because either they’re smoking the good shit, or all the good people in Central decided to congregate and start a club at the edge of a forest. Cisco would like a membership either way.

After saying goodbye to the good officer, Cisco pushes himself to his feet, fills Flash’s food and water bowls. Next, he unzips his huge duffle bag and takes out his first bag of Twizzlers.

“Let the games begin.”

 

**NIGHT 1: Jack Shit.**

Obviously nothing happens. The only time Cisco calls Officer Thawne— _please, call me Eddie, Cisco!_ —is to just say hey, get to know the man. He drinks coffee, eats candy and other snacks, plays tug of war with Flash when the dog insists, pacing about the tiny shack, and—hm. Plays games on his phone? Yeah, that’s pretty much it.

Not a single soul approaches the preserve’s fence. Cisco doesn’t know whether to be relieved or strangely disappointed. Maybe it’s just the vibes Central Preserve gives off at night. All that superstitious talk can create quite the placebo effect. Cisco should start a study.

He’ll write it down so it becomes science. Laying the groundwork should cover like, fifteen minutes of his shift. It won’t be a bona fide experiment or anything, though, since he can only think of one impartial subject for his questions.

But that should be next week, though. He needs to ask Iris and Joe for permission _after_ he builds some credibility.

 

**NIGHT 2: Jack Shit: Resurgence.**

Same routine, basically. Only change Cisco makes is that he calls Eddie three times. They talk about movies; he hasn’t been exposed to too much sci-fi, but he promises to re-watch _Star Wars_. What a nice-ass guy who has a nice ass. This preserve is magic.

 

**NIGHT 3: Jack Shit: The Jackening.**

Nadda. Cisco browses YouTube, adds about a thousand views on one of Markiplier’s videos. Flash, despite his size, climbs onto his lap and cuddles. Greatest night ever.

 

**NIGHT 4: Jack Shit: Just Keep Shitting, Just Keep Shitting, Just Keep Shitting-Shitting-Shitting…What do we do? We don’t. Jack. O-ho-ho-ho-ho-hoffff, because that’s indeeecent!**

It’s a testament to how bored Cisco is when he starts making up these terrible subtitles in his head.

 

**NIGHT 5: …?**

There’s someone inside the fence.

Cisco launches forward, scrutinizing the monitor. Yet when he blinks, it’s gone. No discernable features, no movement, just…standing.

Beside him, Flash rolls onto his back, tongue lolling as he waits calmly for a belly rub. Still, Cisco calls Eddie just in case.

Eddie reports that nothing’s amiss. Huh.

Cisco drinks more coffee, edits his subtitle. **NIGHT 5: Bored as Jack Shit.**

**NIGHT 6: Boredom Awakens.**

Eddie’s watched _Star Wars_. They nerd out for a good two hours about the new movie.

 

**NIGHT 7: I Spy with My Little Eye, Nothing Whatsoever.**

Cisco can’t believe Flash can settle for just pacing around this tiny space.

 

**NIGHT 8: I’m Going on an Adventure!**

Flash yelps and jumps when Cisco finds his red leash. Honestly, how adorable is this flipping dog?

He takes his cellphone—now with Eddie’s number put in—and a flashlight along with his Darth Vader thermos. As soon as he opens the shack door, Cisco’s blasted with yelling cicadas and a fragrant summer breeze.

Yes. Good.

Flash leads the way, tail wagging, nose to the ground. Cisco makes sure to pull him from getting too close to the fence, keeping Eddie on the phone. Of course, Eddie completely understands Cisco’s cabin fever; Iris has succumbed to it on more than one occasion.

“Hey,” Cisco says, “what do you think she and Joe’ll feel about—”

_What is that._

Eddie’s voice filters in, concerned: _“Cisco? You okay?”_

“Hang on a sec, buddy.” Quick as lightning, Cisco lowers his phone and clips on his flashlight.

Because that? That is definitely someone singing.

It’s faint under the distant babbling river and overwhelming cicadas, but the summer air carries it to Cisco’s ears anyway.

 _“Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops,_  
_when the wind blows, the cradle will rock._  
 _When the boughs break, the cradle will fall,_  
 _and Brother will catch it, Sister and all…_  
 _Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops,_  
 _when the wind blows, the cradle will rock…”_

Cisco whips his flashlight, left, right, up, down. Nothing.

 _“…when the boughs break, the cradle will fall,_  
_and Brother will catch it, Sister and all…_  
 _Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops…”_

Sounds like a crooning tenor, and it’s getting fainter and fainter as the seconds pass. Cisco slams his phone to his ear.

“Eddie,” he says, tone urgent, “I’m hearin’ some strange noises, man. Like…singing. You got anything?”

_“Wh—no, Cisco. I mean, I’ll replay some footage, but I’m sure no one’s passed through.”_

Heart pounding, Cisco looks to Flash. The dog’s staring at him, blinking his big eyes. Not at all on high alert.

Calm down, Ramon. Song’s faded. Check your own cameras, play some footage. Call Joe and Iris if you really have to, just—eat some Twizzlers or something.

“Heading back to base,” he reports to Eddie, “I’ll take Flash out tomorrow night too. Sorry for bothering you, man.”

 _“Don’t be, Cisco,”_ wow, Eddie is such prime boyfriend material, _“you’re just doing your job. Maybe the song got stuck in your head or something.”_

Cisco looks over his shoulder at the spot he’d been standing. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “maybe.”

 

**NIGHT 9: Rock-a-fuck-you.**

Cisco takes Flash out as soon as everything gets dark. Once again, Eddie’s on the phone. The wonderful man even tries to talk more sci-fi with him to keep him calm and smiling.

“Y’know Eddie,” Cisco says at last, “the fact that you’re still in want of a girlfriend is a crime against humanity itself.”

Eddie laughs, bashful. He’d confided his wish to Cisco the second time they’d talked.

Now he says, _“Well, I mean…doesn’t have to be a_ girl _friend, you know? I did some exploring since college.”_

No way. N—no. This is—this can’t be happening. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Has to be fantasy. He’s only known Eddie as long as he’s known the Wests. Maybe he’s got his eye on a guy in Central and wants Cisco’s advice because Cisco’s kind of the one person he can talk to out here; cell phone signals only carry so far on the preserve.

Doesn’t stop Cisco from being breathless when he asks, “Yeah? Did you find the ring, Frodo?” _oh my fuck, what did I just say._

But Eddie, dearest Eddie, bursts into laughter. _“You are such a nerd, Cisco. Don’t ever change.”_

Cisco’s cheeks are turning red, he just knows it. If he had a tail growing out his ass, he’d be wagging it faster than Flash. “You don’t change either, man.”

_“…really?”_

“Really rea—”

 _“Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops,_  
_when the wind blows, the cradle will rock._  
 _When the bows break, the cradle will fall,_  
 _and Brother will catch it, Sister and all…”_

For real?!

With a heavy (and quickening) heart, Cisco admits, “I’m hearing it again.”

_“What’s the song?”_

“Uhh…”

(Un)Fortunately, the song restarts, because apparently whoever’s singing literally doesn’t know anything else. Cisco repeats after them.

When he finishes, Eddie hums. He sounds concerned, despite Flash’s happily sniffing the ground without a care in the world.

_“I’ll come to you. I got the camera feeds on a tablet. Five minutes, okay?”_

Now _this_ is a horror movie scenario. And now, the singing’s not fading—it’s growing.

“How about I visit you?” Cisco practically squeaks.

Thankfully, Eddie readily agrees, _“Yeah, I think that’s best. I’ll be waiting.”_

Cisco sprints. Flash bounds with him.

_“…and Brother will catch it, Sister and all…”_

* * *

Eddie ushers Cisco inside with a warm hand between his shoulders. As soon as the door’s shut and locked on Eddie’s little shack, the breath leaves Cisco in a rush.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie murmurs, unclipping Flash’s leash for him, “I’m sorry, I should have met you halfway at least—”

“Nah, it’s cool man,” Cisco replies with a dismissive wave, “I’m just not used to hearing creepy children songs in the middle of the night. Like, in real life.”

Eddie sits him in his own worn leather chair, taking the uncomfortable metal one. Because gallantry is not dead, it just convalesced into one beautiful, beautiful person.

“Let’s look at the feeds together, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

They look. Not a single barbed wire or rusty chain has been disturbed, or is in the process of being disturbed. No cameras are inside the woods, but if none of the borders have been disturbed, then logically it’s impossible for someone to be in there. Unless…

“Does anyone go into the woods during the day?” Cisco asks.

Eddie shrugs, “Joe and Iris work a few rounds sometimes. Can’t say I’ve ever gone in there myself. Other than us, it’s a couple other officers, and they’ve got the day shifts. If they were in there, they would’ve radioed. They’re the, uh—superstitious types.”

Cisco snorts, finally able to relax a little in the chair. “What even _is_ this legend, anyway? I’ve lived in Central my whole life, and I don’t even know it. Everyone always tells a different story.”

Eddie smiles, oh so sweet and handsome. Totally unfair. ( _Please keep doing that._ ) “Well, I can’t say I’ll give an accurate retelling either, then. But I’ll do my best.

“My grandmother told it to me. She’s actually in that website photo, the little girl in the middle with her arm around one of those kids. Said she knew all three of them, but for some reason still believes that they’re malicious spirits out to get people.” Cisco cracks a smile. Encouraged, Eddie continues, “She refuses to even say their names. Records are vague as it is, but Iris was nice enough to share them with me when I asked. Two were siblings, called themselves Lenny and Lisa, and their big friend was Mick. Apparently they were thick as thieves.

“But one day, Lenny and Lisa’s father took his kids out for a walk. My grandmother says their dad was the nicest guy around, always willing to lend a hand or give a sympathetic ear.”

Cisco peers at him. “And you don’t?” it’s not really a question.

Eddie leans forward, elbows on his knees, as if they’re talking conspiracy. He smells _really_ nice.

“I looked at the evidence,” he says quietly. “Lenny and Lisa didn’t come back, and neither did their father, but…Lewis was found _outside_ of the well. Yes, there were signs of a struggle, and yes, the handprints on his neck belonged to children. But how could those same children dump Lewis all the way to the bottom of that well and _then_ drag him out? Even if they had a rope, they couldn’t have had the strength to pull him up.”

Cisco’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think it was self-defense?”

“I only think what the evidence tells me.”

“So you think it was self-defense.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah. I do.”

“Huh…but what about Mick?”

To Cisco’s consternation, Eddie leans back with a sigh. “That kid’s actually guilty. After Lenny and Lisa disappeared, Mick went…well, according to my grandmother and some vague eyewitness accounts, Mick was probably unstable beforehand; however, if that’s the case, he must’ve looked to Lenny and Lisa as some sort of—anchor. When that was torn from him, he blew up. Burned the whole Day Care down, and stood in the middle of the flames. Apparently he was yelling something, but no one can say for sure what it was. My grandmother remembers that face, though—yelling at the sky, body on fire."

That’s when it clicks.

Eddie tilts his head. “Cisco? What is it?”

Cisco points at him. “You said two siblings died in a well? And their friend burned alive?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Ho-lee shit.”

“What?”

Cisco scrambles for his phone, opening his pictures. “You know Iris made a book, right? For her art project in like, college or something?”

“Sure. Really creepy, though. Between you and me, I skimmed through it.”

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to take a closer look, dude. Look at this.”

Page three: _DON’T WAKE HER!/ROCK-A-BYE BABY_.

The color drains from Eddie’s face. “Wait…didn’t you say you heard—”

“Eddie. Where’s the well in this place?”

* * *

Joe and Iris talk to Caitlin before allowing her to hang out with Cisco on his shift. Caitlin’s got that clinical way of speaking and a skepticism that cannot be beat, so the Wests’ permission’s no surprise.

Neither Cisco nor Eddie tells Iris and Joe the real reason Caitlin’s coming.


	3. You Can’t Stop the—WHAT THE F—!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've no time to plead and pine,  
> I've no time to wheedle,  
> Kiss me quick and then I'm gone  
> Pop! Goes the weasel…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank fuck this chapter was pre-written because I have an exam to study for and a paper whose prompt has no clear wording whatsoever due Friday that was announced late last week.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“I still think I should come with you,” Eddie insists for the umpteenth time.

Luckily, Caitlin’s there to roll her eyes and shut him down: “If you come with us, there will be no one to stop idiot kids from possibly showing up. There is no guarantee they won’t, despite however many _peaceful_ nights you’ve had. And, if we call one of your colleagues, they’ll ask questions we can’t answer. Why?” she rounds on Cisco, scrutinizing him. “Because we want to go play _Candle Kids_.”

Now, Cisco _could_ argue on principle. Maybe stall a few more minutes because he is scared _shitless_ right now. Maybe kiss Eddie on his handsome mouth because there’s a huge chance he is not coming back. Maybe. Probably.

Assuming this isn’t just an elaborate prank, although Cisco seriously doubts it when he thinks about the Wests. Iris may have created that creepypasta, but she doesn’t strike Cisco as capable of something like this.

Still. Just to be sure, yes. He and Caitlin are playing Candle Kids.

Eddie bows under Caitlin’s reasoning. “At least take Flash with you,” he says, offering the dog’s leash to Cisco. Flash looks like his normal happy self, completely oblivious.

Cisco really hopes this isn’t a horror movie. Flash doesn’t deserve a horror movie ending, the sweet puppy.

Caitlin reaches into her messenger bag, taking out matches and a tall, thin candle, powder blue. “Are you ready, Cisco?” she asks. When Cisco takes out his wide, short yellow candle, she nods and orders, “Let’s go. See you at six in the morning, Officer Thawne.”

Without preamble, she struts into the dark, her dim candle barely enough to light her face. Cisco hurries after her, a lame wave thrown at Eddie and a, “Sorry, she’s always like that!”

Flash yips, tongue lolling. Cisco wishes he shared his enthusiasm.

“Okay,” he whispers, adjusting the leash so he can cup his candle’s flame, “here we go.”

 

**Midnight: Boo!**

Caitlin speaks once they’re a good ways in. “So,” she says without looking at her friend, “what exactly are we looking for?”

Cisco takes a shaky breath, trying in vain to calm his rapid heartbeat. “For now? Just listen for the singing.”

A fork appears in the path. Two worn signs stand on a shared pole between them: to the left, _DAY CARE_ , to the right, _ARROWHEAD RIVER_.

“You said the daycare was burned down by that Mick, right?” Caitlin asks, steady doctor tone firmly in place as she shines her feeble candle over the scratched paint.

“Yeah—” Cisco’s voice cracks. Clearing his throat, he speaks in a much deeper voice, “yeah.”

Caitlin gives him the side-eye. He needs another best friend. “So let’s head that way,” she says, already turning on her sneakers’ toes.

“O-or we could just, y’know—okay, we’re heading that way.”

Flash is happy as a clam, trotting along between his new human buddies, tail wagging five times a step. He and Caitlin are a couple steps ahead of Cisco, who doesn’t know what’s scarier, the forest behind him or the forest ahead.

At length, Caitlin retrieves her phone and scrolls through the pictures she’d taken of Iris’ booklet. She’s duly unimpressed with Mick’s inscription. “‘Give him life’?” she asks, one part curious, two parts deprecating. “Are we supposed to revive a ghost, Cisco?”

Cisco opens his mouth—

 _“Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops,_  
_When the wind blows, the cradle will rock._  
 _When the boughs break, the cradle will fall_ …”

He looks at his friend. Caitlin’s face is pale as a sheet.

_“…and Brother will catch it, Sister and all…  
Rock-a-bye, baby, in the treetops…”_

Caitlin swallows, glancing at Flash. Taking in the dog’s calm behavior, she nods to herself and starts following the singing. Cisco…yeah, Cisco definitely whimpers before stumbling after her.

They barely make it ten feet before Caitlin giggles.

“Really, Cait?” Cisco hisses, “We’re literally hearing creepy dead people singing, and you’re _laughing_?”

But Caitlin’s frozen on the spot. Her wide, fearful eyes send a chill down Cisco’s spine.

“Cisco,” she whispers, “That wasn’t me.”

Another giggle, this time from their right.

_“When the boughs break, the cradle will fall,”_

From their left,

_“and Brother will catch it, Sister and all.  
“Rock-a-bye baby,”_

Behind them,

_“in the treetops,”_

Right at Cisco’s ear, stale breath teasing at the back of his neck,

_“when the wind blows, the cradle will rock..."_

There’s nothing behind them, there’s _nothing behind them_ —

_“And Brother will catch it”_

“Cisco—”

_“Sister”_

Caitlin points,

_“and all.”_

A woman peeks from behind a tree, hands covering her face.

Cisco’s lungs seize as Iris’ page flashes behind his eyes, depicting this very image. _SHE LIKES TO CHEAT!_

Cheat at _what_?

Suddenly, those hands fly away.

Caitlin staggers back, nearly dropping her candle at that _face_ …can it even be called a face?

Hair, dark, wiry, and limp, hangs in loose curls around a slab of flesh barely sticking to a rotten skull. There’s one eye, bright, childish, and teasing, while the other is an empty socket that hosts a few crawling beetles. The nose is completely gone, save for the yellow bones underneath. A jagged tear, one of many in the flesh, originates from this spot, leading to where the top lip is shredded, musty blood scabbed and leaking ugly brown through the broken skin. Yellow teeth, edged with black, show in the unsettling grin.

And then—“Peek-a-boo!” the (creature?) woman giggles.

A blink. She’s gone, and Cisco’s heart fills with dread.

_SHE LIKES TO CHEAT!_

She likes to cheat…at peek-a-boo.

“Cover your face,” Cisco whispers as he does so himself. Caitlin doesn’t hesitate, having come to the same conclusion.

Shaky and terrified, they give feeble replies of, “Peek-a-boo!”

She’s behind another tree this time. “Peek-a-boo!”

If Cisco has to keep looking at that _face_ , he’s going to vomit. He opts to look at her clothes instead: old and dirty, yes, but the tattered pink dress is a big improvement over…that.

They go a few more rounds, the woman giggling through her game. Cisco and Caitlin slowly back away as they play, taking additional steps when their “playmate” has her eyes covered. All the while, they get ready for when she cheats.

The question is, how do you cheat a peek-a-boo?

Cisco reveals his face. “Peek-a—boo…”

The woman is gone.

Caitlin and Cisco whip their heads back and forth. All they see are dark trees, too thick to let in a sliver of moonlight. Their candles flicker, offering little else.

As the singing begins yet another rendition, a laugh echoes on the wind.

Cisco never thought he’d have a verbal sound for death, but that laugh encompasses every terrible aspect. One, two, three, four deep-throated, murderous sounds, a far cry from the high decibels of earlier.

Caitlin snatches Cisco’s arm, making him jump. “Cisco,” she says. Turns her head from the trees to look him in the eye—“ _Run_.”

Without thinking, Cisco drops Flash’s leash as he and Caitlin take off, as far away from that laugh as they can. They end up straying from the forest path, hands gripping each other so at the very least they don’t lose themselves. The laugh follows them, follows them, _follows them_ , a dark shroud cloaking the treetops.

Speaking of which, that song continues, a flowing undercurrent to the malicious spirit. Desperate, Cisco tugs Caitlin towards it, hoping against hope that this ghost is a mild one if all it does is sing a lullaby on repeat. They can get the _fuck_ out of these woods as soon as they catch their breath.

Finally, the laughter fades…fades into the giggle from earlier.

 _“I just wanted to play!”_ a distant voice teases, flitting erratically between a little girl’s, a grown woman’s, and a whisper.

With all his might, Cisco would like to say, _Fuck you_ and _your peek-a-boo_. Seriously, how could Flash—

Flash. _Flash_.

Cisco spins. Strains his ears. No dog.

“Where’s Flash?” he demands. Caitlin, trembling hands relighting her candle, can only shake her head, fearful eyes glassy with tears. If she looks like this, Cisco can only wonder what windblown monstrosity he’s become.

Can’t be worse than… _that_ face.

Forcefully dispelling the image, Cisco relights his candle too. Once he can see enough, he cups one hand over his mouth and yells—or tries to yell, but Caitlin snatches his shoulder and shakes her head again, wilder and urgent.

“What?” he murmurs.

She gestures around them. Cisco takes the time to perceive where they’ve landed.

A graveyard. Oh _joy_.

Wiiiith one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight- _nine_ graves. Joy to the _world_.

“Flash is gone, and now we’re in a graveyard, in the middle of a haunted forest,” Cisco croaks.

“Not your best idea, Cisco,” Caitlin pants. Yet—“Wait a minute.”

“What?”

Caitlin dips her candle. “Look at the dirt.”

Peering through the thick darkness, Cisco obeys. And he sees.

The graveyard is surrounded by a very obvious line of dug earth, like a tiny moat. A border? A _barrier_?

“Do you think we could be _safe_ here?” Caitlin whispers.

“I’m not thinking straight at all,” Cisco stammers, “but that does sound like a nice idea. Don’t think we should test it. Still nice.” A weak snort.

Whatever the case, it’s quiet for now. Cisco shines his candle on a few of the graves, frowning when he can’t make out most of their inscriptions no matter how close he brings his flame. He can only make out a _ORY/—9—6_ on one, and a _EN/—on_ on another, bits and pieces similar to these on the rest. Caitlin tries wiping at the text. Doesn’t help.

Then Cisco reaches the two graves on the end. He nearly collapses right then and there.

Only the names _MARDON_ are readable, yet Cisco recognizes the pattern, a weaving line of diamond shapes and dots, at the bottom of the penultimate grave. More than that, he recognizes the shape of that torn photo.

 _HOPE_.

He shows this to Caitlin, who’s moved closer to tears as he is. “Five pieces,” he says with renewed vigor, “if we can’t find our way out, we have to find five pieces.”

Caitlin, as always, argues, “But this forest is so huge. How can we possibly find five pieces of a small photograph?”

“It’s our best shot, Caitlin! Are you gonna help me or not?”

She scoffs, “Of course I am, Cisco. I’m just saying.”

They give each other a one-armed hug, falling against the other as adrenaline crashes.

“When daylight comes,” Cisco whispers, “we’ll look for Flash.”

“You and your boyfriend can look for Flash,” Caitlin gripes, “I’m going home and taking a bath, Cisco.”

Cisco _almost_ smiles. Shame a rasping wheeze interrupts his moment. The two of them snap to attention.

Oh no.

Hooded creature. Slashed throat, bleeding mouth. Curled posture. Wide, round holes for eyes, solid black sockets with more blood leaking from them. The mouth—no tongue, dripping teeth—opens wide, as if to scream.

_BE—QUIET._

Almost in unison, Caitlin and Cisco turn to each other, fingers on lips in warning.

Another wheezing groan. Stumble-step. Stumble-step. Sluggish progress around the graveyard perimeter. If he really can’t see, then maybe it proves Caitlin’s idea—ghosts don’t come near these (their?) graves. And if that’s true, could they possibly just wait for daylight here?

Another breeze whispers through the trees. It takes a second for Caitlin and Cisco to realize there’s an actual whisper. They can’t make out what it says, but their ghostly friend stops dead, head tiiiilting to the right.

Whispers…whispers…whispers…

Hollowed sockets encompass Caitlin and Cisco.

Step. Step. Step-step-step-step—

The humans grip each other’s hands and run. Their wraith unleashes a choked yell, flying after them.

Why do these things insist on making people run?! Cisco’d complain aloud, but he finds his voicebox no longer works, as if a distorted hand’s strangling it.

Guess if you don’t be quiet, this ghost will _make_ you be quiet.

Candles blow out, forcing their holders to run in near-complete darkness. On reflex, Queen plays in Cisco’s head: _Just what I needed!_

They almost crash into trees numerous times, fingers thrusting blindly out, awkwardly feeling for trunks around their candles. They will not, _cannot_ spare their other hand; no way they’re getting separated out here.

Running, running, as fast as they can—stop.

Wheeze…wheeze.

Caitlin and Cisco force their eyes from the ground, over their shoulders. Turn their bodies, press them together, side by side.

The ghost has stopped. Even its choked breathing fades into silence. Around it, whispers fade back into a breeze. Without its eyes, there’s no telling where exactly it’s looking, but somehow Cisco knows it’s no longer focused on him and Caitlin.

A broken finger raises to bloody lips. Curling shadow, and the wraith is gone.

Finding he can speak once more, Cisco hisses, “What was _tha_ —”

Caitlin finally throws Cisco’s hand from hers, palm slapping over his mouth instead. She’d followed the wraith’s blank gaze.

“Stay quiet,” she breathes, “we’ve found it.”

Found it? Found—oh no.

Sure enough…

_“Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops,  
when the wind blows, the cradle will rock…”_

Slowly, Caitlin and Cisco turn around.

There’s the well. There’s the figure, curled up on its boards. Just like Iris’ picture. Quick as they can, Caitlin and Cisco relight their candles.

The figure still continues its song:

_“When the boughs break, the cradle will fall,  
and Brother will catch it, Sister and all…”_

Brother will catch it. This must be Lenny.

 _DON’T WAKE HER!_ Don’t wake the sister.

Cisco swallows. _That’s_ why the brother keeps singing; Lenny’s keeping his sister asleep. But why? Wouldn’t he want her _out_ of the well?

“Let’s catch our breath,” Caitlin whispers, barely audible, “and then we run to the right. Okay?” Cisco nods as much as he dares.

It takes a couple minutes to regain some semblance of equilibrium. Thankfully, Lenny doesn’t notice them, continuing his song in what Cisco now recognizes as a tender lilt. He might be a ghost inhabiting malevolent woods, but he’s still an older brother wanting to comfort his baby sister. Cisco can get down with that.

Caitlin meets his eyes. Yeah. They can do this.

_Snap!_

Cliché of all clichés, Cisco steps on a fucking tree branch.

The singing stops.


	4. The Cats in the Cradle and the Fuck My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jill went up the hill  
> to fetch a pail of wa-ter.  
> Jack fell down and broke his crown,  
> and Jill came tumbling af-ter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yesterday was rough for me, and I've had classes all day. BUT, we are going to be back on schedule now!
> 
> I thought I'd incorporate some quotes from Wick, which, by the way, is on YouTube. You can watch it with no commentary, which I HIGHLY RECOMMEND. I listen to that while writing these chapters :D
> 
> But anyway! Wtf happens when the singing stops? Are we going to see more ghosts? And wtf does Cat's Cradle have to do with this? I hope you enjoy!

A whimper escapes from Caitlin, quickly smothered by her free hand, as Lenny slowly sits up, back to them, wood groaning under his movements even though he shouldn’t have a physical form. His neck cracks, the awful sound reverberating off the trees, as he straightens it from lying in one position for so long.

Abruptly, he’s facing them, hands braced on the edge of his and his sister’s well, feet planted on the ground. Cisco has to cover his mouth too as he watches Lenny’s face contort and blur between a ghoulish, eyeless _thing_ that sounds like a child’s muffled screams, and a pale, dripping face with blue lips and bruised eyes. A few twitches, rolls, and it settles into the latter.

His eyes are also blue, like a winter sky. He stares both trespassers down, sending ice through their veins. Blood and water drip steadily from his skin, over his dark clothes, his split knuckles and broken fingernails.

Silence.

_…knock._

_Knock._

_Knock._ goes the well, just beneath the boards. The world spins as Cisco fights off a panic attack.

Lenny’s blue lips pull into a devious smirk. His face morphs a few more twitches—

he’s gone.

_…knock. Knock. Knock._

_Knock, knock, knock._

_Knock-knock-knock._

_Knockknocknockknockknockknock—_ a tiny whimper. _Smack! Smack! SMACK—_ a sharp, pained cry. **_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_**

The boards shatter. Cisco and Caitlin yelp, clutching each other, as the ruined pieces scatter across the grass.

A hand slaps onto the stone, bloody nails scrambling for purchase at the edge. Another hand, this one with a few fingers showing only bone.

She groans, like a dying animal yearning for her pack as she hoists herself

Up. Soaked curls, covering a downturned face. They have a dulled, glittered bow clipped just above where an ear should be.

Up. Arms with blood streaming in vein-like lines, bluish white.

Up. A yellow dress that looks gold when wet and bloody.

Up. A leg with a dirty white stocking and a black Sunday school shoe.

Up. The other leg, pushing its body into a predatory crouch.

Up. Only the face is down.

Up. A pale face similar to Lenny’s, with blue lips and bruised eyes, only the rest of her skin is marred with bruises. Two lacerations over her mouth in an X, doing nothing to stop the ever-flowing waterfall from her lips. Twitch, twitch, roll, and that faceless phantom transforms her too. Unlike her brother though, she sounds like a child forced underwater, trying desperately to breathe.

Up go her eyelids.

Lisa is awake.

In three seamless spurts of movement, her neck cranes back down, until her eyes gaze with a killer’s curiosity at Caitlin and Cisco. They’re a bit glossed over, partially blind, but her victims can _feel_ her stare, like sharp knives twisting into every pore. Too scared to run, Caitlin and Cisco quake in their sneakers like mice before a snake.

Her jaw cracks open, releasing a fresh torrent of water. Gurgling, choking. She’s trying to speak, but the water inside won’t let her. After a minute of trying and failing, trying and failing, she finally sneers in frustration and hops down from her and her brother’s well.

Cisco and Caitlin dare to take another step back. She reaches into her dress pocket, pulling out an old toy phaser painted dirty gold. The nozzle is chewed into a sharp point.

Without hesitating, she saws at her chin. When the skin breaks with a wet _flap_ , her broken fingernails grab it and _yank_.

Like a geyser, water and grime burst from her open flesh, soaked skin resting over her dress where it’s still attached just above her collarbone. She coughs violently until the sprays settles into a steady trickle like her brother’s.

Evidently, she’s the one who drowned. Lenny was probably killed and thrown in after her.

Those milky eyes bore into Caitlin and Cisco once again, halting their cautious steps. Her toy gun raises to point at both of them.

“ _You_ ,” a rasping voice rattles, not quite a woman’s yet not quite a child’s, “ _did you make my brother go away?_ ”

Oh _fuck_ no.

Caitlin’s the only one brave enough to respond. “Y-your brother…Lenny, right?”

Lisa’s face contorts and shifts, phantom gurgling unsettling the small clearing. When it stops, her gun’s back in her pocket, fingers tugging at the slab of flesh she’d cut as a little girl would the hem of her dress. She looks…pained.

No, that’s not the right word. She looks _lost_. _Scared. Lonely._

“ _Yes,_ ” she hisses, “ _Lenny-benny doesn’t go away unless someone makes him._ ” Back to Malicious Intent 101, gun and all, in the span of a nanosecond. “ _You made him go away, didn’t you? Where’s my big brother? WHERE?_ ”

Drop by drop, blood completely replaces water. Oh _fuck no_!

Caitlin gulps. “L-Lenny’s just p-playing a game with u—” she cuts herself off with a gasp. Cisco tightens his grip on her elbow.

Lenny steps into the small pool of light, grotesque expression absolutely murderous. Unheeding of the blood gushing from Lisa’s form, he puts an arm around his sister and pulls her close, one hand disappearing under her shredded skin and pushing up. Under his touch, Lisa’s skin repairs itself.

Distorted echoes, and then—“ _What have you done to my sister?_ ’ he snarls, tucking Lisa’s trembling form under his chin.

Unfortunately, Cisco’s stupid mouth opens. “Hey, _you’re_ the one who disappeared, bro!”

Caitlin’s nails dig into his skin, but the damage is done. Lenny’s pupils crack in slivers, until there’s nothing but pale blue on white.

More echoes—“ _I was going to kill you,_ ” oh, well, at least Lenny’s _honest_ about it, “ _and you scared her. You_ always _scare her._ ”

_Oh. Fuck. No._

Cisco literally cannot believe Caitlin’s actually stepping forward right now. _Letting go_ of his arm to try and placate the vengeful spirits.

“W-we’re sorry Lenny,” how is her voice even remotely steady?! “We just wanted to play with Lisa. We promise we didn’t mean to scare her.”

Lisa—

is suddenly right in front of them, toy gun raised. Her teeth gnash, water gurgling in the back of her throat like a vicious growl. This close, Cisco can see the bruises under her eyes are twice as prominent in comparison to her brother’s.

On instinct, Caitlin and Cisco raise their hands and yelp, then Lenny’s—

right in front of them too, looming behind his little sister as if his presence has expanded into the wraith’s shroud, blanketing Lisa’s back in a protective coat.

Echoes—“ _You hurt her,_ ” Lenny snarls in a guttural rasp, “ _and I’ll hurt you_.”

“No! No!” Cisco squeaks, “No hurting here! No one wants to hurt her!”

Caitlin, however, uses her experience in traumatic situations to regain her professional air. “Lisa,” she says with perfect calm, slowly lowering her hands, “honey. We really are sorry we bothered you. Would it be alright if we helped your brother sing you your lullaby?”

Just like that, Lenny’s presence shrinks. He peers at Caitlin with narrowed eyes, but those eyes have pupils. Cisco counts that as a major win.

Still, he asks out of the corner of his lips, “What are you _doing_?”

“Savingourlives,” Caitlin hisses—licks her lips, puts on a friendly smile—“I can’t sing very well, but I would like to try, just for you.”

Slowly…slowly…Lisa lowers her gun. Steps back until she’s arm’s length from them; Lenny follows. Cisco dares to gasp a breath through his mouth. Caitlin steadies her smile, heart pounding hard and frantic in her chest.

Lisa opens her mouth to speak. As before, water drowns her vocal chords, and as before, she takes her gun’s sharp point to tear her skin open—Lenny stops her. Cisco recognizes, from brief glimpses during his early childhood, the look of a worried older brother. He tries to keep that rationale in mind: above all else, Lenny just wants to protect his sister at all costs. Probably _died_ trying to do that.

Gently, Lenny’s bloody, broken fingers massage Lisa’s throat. A choking noise—

“ _Can she sing for me, Lenny?_ ”

Her brother blinks, obviously not expecting the request. Yet his expression remains soft.

This time, no echoes precede his words, no terrible rasping drips from them. He sounds…well, normal: “Whatever you want, sis.”

Caitlin swallows past the lump in her throat as Lenny’s face con _torts_ again, focusing on her. “I’d love to,” she murmurs.

Lenny’s _face re_ turns to its regular state. He dips his head towards the well. Despite Cisco’s fervent whispers, Caitlin lets go of her friend’s hand and follows the siblings.

Once she sees Caitlin’s hand freed, she reaches for it. Caitlin wills herself not to shiver as cold, dripping bones wrap around her fingers. _Smile_ , she thinks to herself, _smile_.

As they walk, Lisa shrinks. Not like Lenny did, no—she literally shrinks. By the time the three of them reach her well, she’s just a little girl. Can’t be older than seven. Caitlin feels a pang of sadness.

Lenny lifts her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her wet cheek. There’s an unreadable expression on his face, yet one so undeniably human that Caitlin almost can’t believe she was ever scared of him.

The boards have been replaced over the well. Lisa is lowered right through them. As she passes, sounds pierce the clearing.

Screaming—gurgling—

 _—Lenny, help me!_ — _Shut up, you little bitch!_ —

—gurgling—sobbing— _NO! LISA!_ —coughing—retching—a breath—a choke— _no, no, Lisey, no, stay with me, please!_ —

…silence.

Lenny’s eyes are closed as he lets his sister go.

When he looks at Caitlin, his malicious smirk’s back in place. Echoes—“ _How about_ you _start?_ ”

Good thing he’d repeated it so many times. Caitlin could probably recite his song in her sleep—not that she’ll ever sleep to _that_ (or possibly ever again).

Clearing her throat, Caitlin backs up a step—Lenny yanks her to the well, sitting her on the edge next to him. As soon as he touches her, she whimpers into the lyrics.

“R-r- _rock-a-bye b-baby, in th-the treetops…_ ”

And, okay, Cisco will say this about the ghost: he’s very good at harmonizing.

After a couple rounds of his lullaby, Lenny raises his finger, pointing to the right. Suddenly, he changes his tune mid-verse:

 _“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home,_  
_your house is on fire,_  
 _just over the hill.”_

Hill? Hill. There’s a hill.

A tear tracks down Caitlin’s face. “Thank you,” she whispers—breaks out into a sprint, grabbing Cisco’s wrist and dragging her with him.

Their candles go out again. They don’t stop until they’ve tripped over the base of a hill. Quick as they can, they relight their flames.

Hope springs in Cisco’s roiling stomach. “Caitlin!” he whispers, “Look!”

Another piece of the photograph sits before them, as if waiting for someone to find it. This piece follows the same shape as Iris’ illustration, only—

“Wait a minute.”

“What?” Caitlin breathes.

“Well, it’s just…” Cisco’s face scrunches in confusion, “the face is different.”

“ _What_?”

“The face is different. Look,” and Cisco brings the piece closer to his light.

Caitlin sees the differences right away: this one’s subject, although cut off, has fair hair with darker highlights, facial hair, and a smirking mouth. The one in Iris’ illustration was a bright, smiling young man with green eyes and brown hair.

“Don’t tell me this is the wrong one,” Caitlin whispers.

“It can’t be,” Cisco replies, “there’s no way Iris—”

Jingling. A huff.

 _Flash_?

Cisco barely remembers to pocket the photograph piece before he and Caitlin are running again.

“Flash?” they call as loud as they dare, “Flash!”

A dog’s inquisitive noise. Caitlin and Cisco reach the summit—and there the dog is, tail wagging, happy as can be.

He’s resting against someone’s thigh.

Long, pale fingers toy with a red Cat’s Cradle. A red sweater, tattered and stained, over a faded white dress shirt. Jeans, caked with mud at their ankles. Red sneakers, well-worn, ripping at the edges.

Those fingers halt.

B—headturns—l—Cradle’sbundledinonehand—i—stand—n—handonFlash’shead—k.

Smile. Friendly, bright.

“Hello,” says the young man from Iris’ drawing, “I’m Barry. Are you lost?”

Caitlin and Cisco glance at each other.

Y’know what? Fuck it.

“Yeah,” Cisco replies, “we definitely got turned around. Uh—Lenny—Lenny pointed us up here.”

Barry laughs, warm and welcoming. “He must _really_ like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Len can be a really cold person. If you got him to want you to stay, you definitely made a new friend. You gotta tell me how you did that.”

Speaking of cold, ice pricks up Caitlin’s spine. “Wait,” she says, “what—what did you mean by Lenny wanting us to _stay_?”

Instead of answering, Barry—b—stretchesoutCat’sCradle—link. “Do you play?”

“U-uh,” Cisco scratches the back of his head, “when I was a kid I played a bit.”

Barry’s grin widens. “Awesome! Wanna play? Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“Um.” Hey, if it saved their lives, “Sure…?”

Cisco reaches for the string. Barry rears his hands back.

“Whoa, whoa,” he laughs, “you gotta use your own! This one’s mine. See?”

In incomprehensible speeds, Caitlin and Cisco are shown multiple shapes and contortions of Barry’s string.

“Keeps my hands busy,” Barry says a second later, when he’s finished. “It can get lonely up here, and with all these trees, it’s no fun to run unless you’ve got someone to run for—Flash is a good buddy for that.” Flash enjoys a loving pat. “So it’s _my_ string. What does yours look like?”

His grin is gone, but it’s replaced with open, friendly curiosity. There’s no creepy pallor, no bloodstains or rasp. Cisco could almost believe Barry was alive.

Well, if Lenny and Lisa could be semi-friendly…?

Please, give them this one.

Cisco slumps in apology. “Sorry dude,” he says with a shrug, “we didn’t pack Cat’s Cradle.”

It’s as if the very forest pauses. Not even Lenny’s lullaby can be heard.

Oh shit.

Barry’s crestfallen. “You…you didn’t wanna play, did you?”

“I-it’s not that—”

“No. No, I understand.” A bitter laugh hits the air. “Why did I think you’d play this time? You never do. Always said you would, always told me and mine that you would—but you never did. Instead—” the red string pulls taut. Cisco now sees it’s not supposed to be red. “—instead you gave me this string and left me. Left me _all alone_.”

When Caitlin and Cisco’s eyes lift from the string (stained, stained with _blood_ ), they’re met with lightning crackling through Barry’s eyes. His neck has been cut, cut with his string.

With terrible clarity, Cisco remembers: _HE LIKES TO CHASE_.

Barry pockets his string. “I just want someone to play with,” he says, “Iris plays with me. But no one else wants to. I can move them where I want, you know. I can make them do whatever I want, too.” (the heads, the talking heads) “But they don’t want to be my friends. I know!” he grins, but his eyes are too wide now, too eager, too—“Why don’t we play a different game?”

Back away slowly. Back. Away. Slowly.

“Wh-what game, buddy?” Cisco asks.

Barry giggles, and Cisco finally has a name for that look in his eyes—insanity.

“ _Tag_!” he cries.

A flash of lightning. Warm, electrifying fingers close around Cisco’s shoulder for one awful moment—Cisco and Caitlin remember how to run.

“Come on, Flash!” cackles Barry, “Let’s catch our new friends!”

Flash barks, happy and eager to run with him. Cisco nearly trips over his own feet; Caitlin does trip, rolling down the hill, her candle snuffed out on the grass. Her head collides with something hard.

“Run, run, run, as fast as you can!” Barry yells, absolutely delighted. He rushes after Cisco’s light.

Caitlin is left unconscious in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's not too long, but considering where we left off here, it was necessary. 
> 
> Again, update schedule has returned to normal.


	5. Burn, Baby, Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ladybug, ladybug,  
> fly away home.  
> Your house is on fire,  
> and your children are gone."
> 
> (Lilian, Wick)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's shorter, I know. But trust me when I say that the plot needs it to be so.
> 
> HOWEVER! We finally get to see coldwave! :D Characterization may be a bit off because of the whole vengeful ghost thing, but hopefully I was able to retain some if it.
> 
> So what the fuck happened to poor Caitlin? Let's find out...

When Caitlin wakes, she’s greeted with a pounding heart and a light moving in the distance. This light’s intensity and flickering matches that of a candle; Caitlin’s first thought is Cisco.

Scrambling to her feet, Caitlin grabs her candle and rushes towards it. After that—speedster, she figures she shouldn’t light her own flame anytime soon. She’ll have to warn Cisco about that once she reaches him.

For what seems like forever, Caitlin sprints towards the light. In one slow, terrible second, she realizes—

that’s not Cisco.

And that is certainly _not_ a candle.

The burning finger snuffs out, but fiery eyes remain lighted. A guttural snarl— _GIVE HIM LIFE_.

Caitlin wonders how much more of this she can take before she keels over herself.

What looks like a charred house looms behind this phantom. That, combined with the fire, brings Caitlin to the conclusion that this is Mick Rory. Lenny and Lisa’s friend who burned alive with everyone in the day care.

Yet, like those two, Mick doesn’t look like a child; his hulking figure feels twice as large in the dark. From what Caitlin can see, he’s wearing a dirty shirt and suspenders, almost like a schoolboy. Shaved head, like Lenny, yet all he does is growl.

 _GIVE HIM LIFE_. What does that _mean_? He’s dead!

Caitlin gulps. Should she start running in the other direction? Why is that even a question?!

Mick’s hand, big and scarred with his burns, clams around her arm.

She can’t run.

Slowly, the ghost leans forward…deep inhale.

A sob escapes Caitlin.

Wait.

He’s…

saying something?

Sounds like…Caitlin parses through it. He’s repeating it under his breath, voice grinding against itself like gravel. There’s a touch of something else in his tone, but she can’t quite make that out either.

But then—oh.

Oh, oh, _oh_.

“Lenny…Lenny? Lenny…”

Lenny’d sat beside Caitlin when they sang together. Does Mick _smell_ him on her? Do ghosts even have individual scents? She certainly can’t get past the constant stink of death and rotten flesh.

Either way, this might be the only thing saving her life.

Saving her life…?

Life.

 _GIVE HIM LIFE_.

Shit. _Shit_ , _that’s it_!

As before, Caitlin forcefully pulls herself together. Straightens her shoulders—looks back at Mick. Swallows past her dry mouth.

As quiet and gentle as she can, Caitlin whispers, “Do you…do you miss Lenny, Mick?”

Flaming, pupiless eyes take her in. Yellow, bared teeth clench.

A hoarse cry, but not from him. That wraith—it’s back.

Caitlin gasps, cowering away from both ghosts. Her free hand slaps over her mouth; her eyes squeeze shut, as if this is all just a bad dream that’ll go away.

Her eyelids light up red. They fly open—

Mick is throwing fire at the wraith.

Another sickening growl-breath. The wraith flees.

Yet Mick slams Caitlin against the steadiest beam on the ruined porch. His breath, thick and reeking of smoke, blows her hair from her face.

Another beastly snarl.

“ _Where_?”

Caitlin starts. “W-where?”

Mick slams her against the railing again. Caitlin cries out.

“Lenny. _Where_?”

Fuck, she doesn’t know heads or tails of this fucking woods. “Th-the well—h-he’s on the well!”

She’s thrown to the ground.

“ _LIAR_!”

Run. Run-run-run-run-RUN!

Blindly, Caitlin shoves to her feet and takes off. Earth-shaking stomps follow her. She can’t help it; she screams.

As if in response, she abruptly hears a—

_“Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops…”_

Northwest. Caitlin has to run northwest.

She’ll give this bastard life.

“You want Lenny?” she shouts over her shoulder, “Here he fucking is!”

The stomping accelerates. Caitlin pumps her legs faster, following Lenny’s voice to the best of her ability. Last thing she wants is to go _back_ to the ghost who apparently wants her and Cisco to “stay,” but at this point, survival is her one goal.

She can’t see for shit, but under the dim moonlight the well makes a distinct shape. So does Lenny.

Her candle’s gone, abandoned when Mick grabbed her arm. Caitlin’s trembling fingers rummages in her pocket for a match.

“I brought you and Lisa a surprise!” she calls to the shifting shadow, voice ragged from fear and exhaustion. Her match ignites at last.

The stomping comes to a piercing halt. Caitlin stumbles out of the way.

Thank God, thank God, thank _God_ —

Mick’s attention is no longer fixed on her. Lenny’s face isn’t even morphing as he slowly stands, eyes widening just enough to be noticeable.

A blink. Mick’s flames extinguish.

Another blink—

Mick’s hands snap around Lenny’s pale throat.

Lisa starts knocking.

But Lenny’s expression, while blatantly surprised, remains calm. Mick stares him down, breathing heavily through his constant growling. He’s _pissed_ , but—again, there’s something else there, something—

Lenny’s dripping hands grasp Mick’s burned wrists.

“ _Ring around the rosy,_  
a pocket full of posy,  
Ashes,  
Ashes,  
we all fell dead.”

Lisa’s knocking stops.

“ _Ring around the rosy,_  
a pocket full of posy,  
Ashes,  
Ashes,  
we all fell dead.”

Mick is _shaking_.

_“Ring around the rosy,”_

Hands loosen,

_“A pocket full of posy,”_

Move up, up,

_“Ashes,  
Ashes,”_

Nails dig into the skin below Len’s ears. The skin shifts, making a strange noise that almost sounds like a kiss,

_“we all fell dead.”_

Just as before, Lenny repeats-repeats-repeats this new song. Gradually, Mick’s anger seems to seep from him, as if drained by each note.

Approaching this wild animal, Lenny takes the two steps needed to close the distance between them. Their foreheads press together.

Lenny’s thumbs rub against the burns.

_“Ashes,  
Ashes…”_

Soaked lips press against flaking skin.

_“We all fell dead.”_

Like an ignited match, Mick springs into action. He throws his arms around Lenny, crushing their bodies together with enough force for Lenny’s bones to whine an audible grind.

Lenny sinks his fingers into Mick’s arms with a squelching sound, ash and old blood seeping from the wounds. Mick retaliates by burying his face into Lenny’s shoulder and biting his neck. There is no reaction on either side, save for Lenny’s eyes falling closed—

Savoring.

All the while, he never stops singing.

Caitlin is done here (done with _tonight_ ). She takes out her spare candle, stuffed precariously in her other pocket. It’s similar to Cisco’s, a small, wide stump. She lights it.

When she looks up, both spirits are looking at her.

Mick’s mouth is stained bloody, some of Lenny’s skin stuck in his teeth. Lenny’s lips are singed. Their eyes share an identical scrutiny as they consider Caitlin.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Fuck! Lisa can _not_ come out right now! But Lenny’s stopped singing— _damn it_ —!

“ _Ro_ —” no wait, new song, new song—

 _“Ring around the rosy,_  
a pocketful of posy,  
Ashes,  
Ashes,  
we all fell dead.”

What a fucking great song. Nevertheless, Lisa quits knocking.

Hoping against hope that there’s no rock, fallen branch, or fuck, a _tree_ , Caitlin repeats the song while backing away. Neither Mick nor Lenny moves, still wrapped around each other.

She waits for Lenny to resume singing. Next second, she cups her hand around her candle’s sputtering flame and runs.

No stomping. No footsteps.

Caitlin looks this way and that, searching for— _anything_ that could lead her in some semblance of the right direc—what is that?

“Oh!” she nearly collapses to the ground in her haste to snatch up the photograph piece.

This part shows a turned body in a black coat, the edge of a pristine smile and facial hair.

In her head, Caitlin pieces the three of them together. Almost half of a picture forms: a handsome man with dark blond hair, clad in a long black coat, jeans, and simple red scarf, half-turned towards the camera. There’s the subject; what about the setting?

Caitlin shoves the piece in her pocket and presses onward.

“Where are you, Cisco?” she breathes, “Where _are_ you?”

She looks right.

Glowing eyes look back.

With a terrified shriek, Caitlin sprints left. Her vision blurs from terror.

“Caitlin?!”

Oh fuck—“Cisco!”

“Caitlin—” Cisco cries out.

 _Splash_!

“ _CISCO_!”

Caitlin arrives at the river. Its rapids roar in her ears, but not as loudly as Cisco’s panicked gurgling. She sees his hands fighting to lift him to the surface.

There’s no choice.

Caitlin drops her candle, shoves off her jacket.

“Hold on, Cisco!” she yells.

In seconds, she’s underwater.


	6. River Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down by the river where the green grass grows,  
> There sits Mary washing her clothes.  
> She sings, she sings, she sings so sweet.  
> She calls to her sweetheart across the street.  
> Patrick, Patrick won’t you come to tea,  
> Come next Sunday at half past three.  
> Tea cakes, lardy cakes, everything you’ll see.  
> Oh won’t we have a jolly time at half past three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha hAAAA is anyone even still out there? How are you? Doin' good? That's good.
> 
> So here we are, back again. This chapter is even shorter because tlot's actually coming together here, characters moving towards their positions for the final two chapters. We'll be doing just that for a couple of characters in this chapter.

Cisco doesn’t know how far or how long he runs, just that Barry’s not slowing down. Countless times he almost faceplants, countless more times he hears Barry’s maniacal delighted villain laugh.

Dude looked like such a hero. Like Eddie.

Fuck, Eddie.

There’s a light.

Cisco gulps one last push of air and throws himself to the left.

It’s the graveyard again. He basically went in a circle. Caitlin’s gonna be so—Caitlin.

Caitlin?

 _Caitlin_!

Cisco trips and rolls. His back bruises on the base of one of the stones. Flash, panting doggy breath, licks his face.

Barry stays back. His yellow lightning has spread to the rest of his body, pretty lips curled in a snarl that doesn’t look right on his face.

“You’re using him against me?!” he wails, voice amplified by some unknown vibration.

Cisco wipes his face and coughs. “Using who?!”

Barry prowls around the perimeter. Which means it actually works; Cisco could stay here until daybreak.

But Caitlin’s still out there. Once Barry disappears, Cisco will count to ten and go looking for her. Bros before ghosts.

Then again, Barry might not disappear. He’s the Big Boss around here, the guy pulling the strings, and Cisco doesn’t have enough items to deal with him. Two out of five photograph pieces and candle stubs can’t do any perfectly timed butt pokes.

The world feels thick. Cisco’s forced to lie down. Flash ups the kissies and puppy whines. It’s the purest thing about tonight. God bless.

Barry stops.

Grins.

Bl—flashoflightning—ink.

Cisco’s shaking arms push him to his knees. Whatever Barry’s planning, it didn’t look good.

But Cisco has his own plan. He nudges Flash aside and waits for his breath and heart to slow. He relights his candle.

  1. 9\. The darkness doesn’t move.
  2. 6\. Flash whines, unhappy that Cisco’s not doing anything.
  3. 4\. Something moves in the brush.
  4. 2\. Toneless humming.
  5. 0\. Something’s glowing. Three pairs of eyes—no, two—no, one—three—one—two—?



_DON’T LOOK HIM IN THE EYE._

Fuck!

Cisco squeezes his eyes shut. Flash tries giving him more kisses.

More toneless humming. Closer…closer…closer, closer…closerclosercloser—silence.

Cisco covers his face. The stink of dog and sweat are easily ignored when Kaa is after you.

Foot…steps…

Crinkling. A brush on Cisco’s leg. Cisco pins himself against the grave, which, y’know, great metaphor.

_“I’m sorry.”_

…what?

Astonishment pries his eyes open, only to find nothing there. Nothing…nothing but a torn something by his knee, evidently tossed over the border. Cisco scrambles to it.

Under Flash’s eager sniffing, the piece can be made out: a body in a black coat, the edge of a pristine smile, and facial hair.

Why would the ghost give this to him?

Worry about that later. For now, Cisco assembles the three pieces in front of him. Dude’s really good-looking. Those are definitely leaves next to him, and something like trees above his head, but the top right corner and biggest chunk on the left are still missing. Still, it’s enough to know that the guy’s near a forest. _This_ forest, maybe?

Oh man, the backstory. Every ghost story’s gotta have a backstory. How does this guy figure in? Barry talked about a “him.” Is this him? Cisco only knows three names of the nine graves or the name of this guy, so it’s not like he can guess.

Shaking his head, Cisco pockets the pieces and grabs Flash’s leash. All’s quiet again. For now. Hopefully it’ll last until he can find his friend.

Okay. So the hill’s thataways. Don’t wanna go there. Barry went straight, as far as Cisco could see. Don’t wanna go there. So either left or a complete 180.

He faces the graves. Counts to ten again. When nothing happens, he leads Flash around the headstones and hopes for the best. Not that there’s much of the best here. He’ll take what he can get on Casper’s scavenger hunt.

No, not Casper. Casper was cool. These guys are _dicks_.

And it is way too quiet. Not that Cisco’s not grateful, but. Well, these ghosts kinda like to harass their victims like _pow-pow-pow_ , right? What’s changed?

Cisco’s chest freezes. _What’s changed_?

He needs to find Caitlin.

 

Caitlin is _nowhere_.

Granted this forest is basically its own country, but Cisco’s pretty sure he would’ve at least seen some candlelight in the distance, or Flash to react in some way that didn’t involve pissing on the trees. (He hopes the ghosts won’t be offended by the last part.)

Yet there’s nothing. Not even a ghost. What is going on?

He keeps going. Doesn’t know how long. His phone’s dead, despite its full battery at the beginning of this whole fiasco. Guess the TV shows were right about that one, if nothing else—fence?

Fence. _Fence_.

Cisco opens his mouth to scream for Eddie. Caitlin screams instead.

It’s either let Flash go or dislocate his arm. Cisco glances up one last time, at the camera he knows is there. He leaves his jacket and disappears back into the woods.

 

Caitlin falls silent before Cisco can so much as get a fix on any direction. Luckily, Flash seems to know where he’s going.

They end up beside a rushing river. Caitlin’s coat discarded on the bank. Nothing but the current and rustling of wind through the trees.

The moon’s finally starting to show, but it doesn’t give Cisco any other clues. Flash is whining.

And Cisco. Cisco doesn’t care anymore.

“Caitlin!” he shouts, “Cait! Where are you?”

“Cisco?”

He stumbles. “Caitlin?!”

“Cisco, where did you go?”

“I’m by the river! Where are you?”

“I ran into Mick, and I—got a little lost.”

Cisco follows her voice and Flash’s happy barking.

“I found something too. A piece of the photo.”

“Yeah, so did I! Where did—you find…”

It’s the well again, but the scene has changed.

For one, Lenny’s not singing. He’s not even on the well anymore; his head rests on the lap of some big guy Cisco really doesn’t want to meet ever, sleeping right through his skin getting peeled apart and put back together again, as if New Guy wants to see every inch of his insides like a kid trying his first microscope.

Lisa has grown again. She’s being cradled against another ghost, one that Cisco hasn’t seen yet. This one has hair white as the moon and just as pale, but her blue tinge is more subtle than Lisa and Lenny’s.

Her eyes are pale too, made more so by her black lace dress. Her expression is mostly empty, but there’s an affection that shines on Lisa’s peaceful face.

“She didn’t need a lullaby,” Caitlin says, her voice whispering through water, “she needed another friend.”

Cisco staggers until his back hits the nearest tree. “Caitlin?” he croaks.

Caitlin lays her cheek on Lisa’s head. “I had Roy give you my piece. It’s the least I can do. You brought me home.”

“No…no, I—Caitlin, this—you can’t be—you’re supposed to go home and take a bath. You’re supposed to go to STAR Labs on Monday, you—”

Caitlin shushes him. “You’ll wake them. Mick won’t like that.”

New Guy’s Mick then? Reunions abound in this fucking forest.

“Cisco. You need to assemble that photo. The graveyard’s no longer a full proof solution, and you need a safeguard.”

“Why not?”

A wry smile. “Because not all the bodies are there anymore.”

Cisco’s gonna hurl. He settles for sobbing.

Caitlin sighs. “It’s okay, Cisco. I’m okay. And so are you—not,” she adds at Cisco’s shudder, “like me. You’ll get to kiss that Prince Charming of yours if I have anything to say about it. Mick owes me for showing him the way here. And for the rough treatment.”

She looks sharply at Mick. His eyes flame a little in response to her phantom hiss.

Then she’s all smiles again. “He knows where the fourth piece is.”

Mick grumbles. Caitlin punches his back until he coughs up a handful of ashes.

The words come out on a huff: “Orphanage.”

Cisco blinks. “Orphanage? I thought it was a Day Care.”

Mick shakes his head. “Orphanage.”

That. That makes a huge difference. “But—Lenny and Lisa’s father—”

Mick snarls. Caitlin hisses.

“Which—which way?”

Caitlin looks at Mick expectantly.

He growls, “I’ll take yah.”

“Wait, what?”

“Repaid the ‘rough treatment.’ Not for Lenny.”

“He can leave the well,” Caitlin says, “Lisa can’t.”

Cisco starts. “But what about—”

 _“She can’t leave_.”

Caitlin’s face con _torts_. Nope, Cisco’s definitely gonna hurl.

Lenny mumbles as Mick hauls him to his feet. “Not goin’ anywhere without Lenny” is his only explanation before he hoists Lenny onto his back.

Cisco looks back at Caitlin. “Cait…”

Caitlin shakes her head. “You either summon him or you die, Cisco.”

“But _you’re_ —you’re—”

“And you’re not. _Go_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Updates every Tuesday :D


End file.
